Inhuman
by AHaddock3
Summary: Bianca (Bee) Solace-di Angelo's life in thrown into disarray when her dad, Nico di Angelo, is accused of being a Fetch, a person who illegally crosses the Titan Wall into The Feral Zone. As she follows him across the quarantine line, she ends up on a quest with people who know a great deal more about the connections their parents have with hers and of their parents lineage...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Okay, so I know that I have a lot of other stories, but this will hopefully be a quick one. I was reading the novel "Inhuman" and I came across the name "Dr. Solis." I said it out loud and it sounded suspiciously like "Dr. Solace." So I started re-writing the story in my head using some OCs and grown-up demigods and this just happened. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Note: Main characters include; Bianca Solace-di Angelo, Cast Jackson, and Sammy Zhang. Minor characters include Zane Ramirez-Arellano, Sophia Grace, Alexa Valdez, and Chuck Hedge.**

* * *

Inhuman

 _Chapter One_

* * *

Now that I was actually on the roof of the skyscraper, I was having second thoughts. Maybe it was the spotlights sweeping the streets below, or the patrol planes flying in pairs along the top of the Titan wall, or maybe it was just my good sense reasserting itself. What we were about to do was not only stupid and dangerous, but also illegal, and in my sixteen years of life I'd made a point of avoiding activities that could be described with even one of those adjectives.

I paused halfway across the roof, letting the boys hurry ahead. "I'm suffocating." I tugged at the scrap of white vinyl-supposedly a vest, more like a corset-that I'd somehow let Sophia talk me into wearing tonight. Without a shirt.

"Don't be such a slave to comfort." Sophia pulled my hands away from the vest and gave me the once-over. Her short curls bobbed with her nod of approval. "Funny how a tight top can loosen a girl right up."

"I'm not sure loose is a good thing at thirty stories up." _Or ever, for that matter,_ I thought.

"Now remember, I want it back, so don't go wild." Her blue eyes narrowed as she took in the rooftop gardens around us. "And no rolling in the dirt."

"Ew."

"Not even if Zane asks nicely."

"Ew again. I told you: I am not into Zane." Curiosity had propelled me up here, not the desire to roll around with either of the guys we'd come with-guys who were now fighting over the remote control for a toy hovercopter.

"It's my 'copter." Camden clutched at the toy while warding Zane off with an elbow.

"My roof." Zane latched onto Camden's wrist. Anyone hearing them would think they were first-graders, not seniors.

Music and laughter floated up from the penthouse below and I wondered what part of tonight would upset Zane's military mom, Reyna Ramirez-Arellano, the most. That her son was was having a party while she was out of town, or that he was on top of a building compromising national security? Probably the latter, although having so many people in their apartment-touching things, spreading germs-that would send a chill down any parent's spine.

Suddenly the boys' tussling sent them to the edge of the roof. I gasped and Sophia clapped a hand to her mouth. Just as fast, they reversed direction, still grunting and scuffling, completely oblivious to how close they'd come to falling. I exhaled slowly. AS much as I loved animals-even the strays-I hated it when boys acted like animals. Out of control. Vying for dominance. Ugh.

"If you're not into Zane, then why are we up here?" Sophia demanded.

"You know why." I swept a hand toward the wall that loomed like a mountain range, even though it was just across the street. "The Feral Zone."

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes!" Zane wrested the remote control from Camden and lifted his arm in triumph. "Let's get this baby in the air."

I split my long ponytail into two sections and yanked them apart, forcing the rubber band tight against my scalp. The tighter my hair was pulled back, the better my brain worked. Sophia reluctantly followed me over to the roof's edge. I'd never been so close to the top of the Titan wall before and the sheer enormity of it loosened a flutter in my chest. The reparation wall, the quarantine line, the blight-all the names for the wall, even the bitter ones, were said with awe. Because the Titan wasn't just any wall. At seven hundred feet tall, it towered over downtown Davenport and curved to infinity in either direction. The guards stationed along the top all had their guns and telescopes pointed outward, toward the part of America that is lost to us-now known as The Feral Zone.

That's what really carbonated my blood: the though that via toy hovercopter, I might finally get to see what was over there. When the wall went up twelve years ago, that part of the country became as mysterious to us as Africa was to the rest of the world in the nineteenth century. The Feral Zone was our Dark Continent.

Sophia, however, seemed immune to the zone's allure. She took one look at the gun turrets and scooted back, her tan skin ashen. "This is a very bad, very stupid idea."

"Worst case scenario, I'm out of a camera," I said lightly.

"Really?" She propped her fists on her hips. "'Cause I'd say the worst case scenario is we all get shot for crossing the quarantine line."

"We're not crossing. That is." Zane pointed at the toy hovercopter in Camden's hands. "And it can't catch a virus. So technically, we're not breaking quarantine." His black hair was as rumpled as his shirt. At least he wan't wearing his bathrobe, which was what he usually wore during our virtual classes even though we were supposed to log on every morning at eight, fully dressed.

Camden tipped the mini hovercopter to check the camera that I'd attached to the underside. He gave a nod. "Let's do this before it gets to dark to see anything."

We probably wouldn't see anything anyway. The toy hovercopter had to fly over the wall and across the Mississippi River before it officially reached The Feral Zone. But I would be happy even with a distant shot-one that I could enlarge later.

I lifted my dial, which hung on a delicate chain around my neck. We all wore them. For our parents, the glowing discs were more than phones. Our dials were their spy cameras. With a push of a button, a dad could see what his daughter was doing (and with whom) through her dial's screen, even if she didn't "take" the call-like that was ever an option.

With a tap, I activated the link between my dial and the camera. A second later, Camden's face popped up on the dial's round screen. I pointed at him. "Action."

Camden lifted the hovercopter over his head. "Let 'er rip."

Zane flicked a button on the remote, the rotor blades started whirling and the toy lifted out of Camden's hands.

The boys whooped and punched the air. Sophia met my gaze with an arched brow.

I smiled. "Oh, come on, you know you want to see what's over there."

"I know what's over there." She plucked a bottle of hand sanitizer from the back pocket of my jeans. "Rubble and disease."

"And mutants," Camden added without taking his eyes off the little hovercopter zooming toward the wall.

"There are no mutants." Sophia squeezed a blob of gel into her palm. "Everyone over there is dead."

Zane thumbed the remote, putting the hovercopter into a steeper trajectory. "If everyone's dead, why do we have armed guard patrolling the wall night and day?"

I looked up from my dial. "To keep the chimpacabras out."

"Don't even bring that crap up." Sophia chucked the bottle of sanitizer back to me. "Because of you, I still sleep wit the light on."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have begged me to tell you about them every time we had a sleepover," I said with a laugh.

Camden glanced over. "What's a chimpacabra?"

"Nothing. A monster my dad made up." Back when I'd still believed his stories. Well, half-believed. He'd started telling me stories about a brave littler girl and her adventures in The Feral Zone when I was eight, right after my other father (who I'd called Daddy) died. Daddy used to sing to me before bed. Stories were Dad's way of filling in the silence.

"A chimpacabra is a mole-monkey thing that has poison spit and lives underground over there." Sophia pointed beyond the wall with a shudder. "It creeps out at night to steal kids from their beds. One bite and you're paralyzed and you can't even scream while it eats you alive."

I tore my gaze from my dial to stare at my best friend. "Um, Sophia Thalia, chimpacabras aren't real. My dad made them up. Well..." I couldn't resist. "I mean, I think he did."

Sophia circled her hand in front of her face. "See me not laughing."

At least Camden laughed.

"Here we go," Zane crowed as the toy hovercopter sailed over the top of the Titan. "Fifty feet across and we're-" Loud popping cut off his words. My dial cut to black and I looked toward the wall. "What happened?"

Along the far side of the ramparts, gun turrets swiveled toward the Inside, all taking aim at the sputtering hovercopter.

"Get down!" Camden dropped into a crouch as more shots rang out. Sophia and I hunkered next to him, but Zane took off for the door to the stairwell.

"It's okay," I whispered. "There's no way for them to know where the 'copter came from." Just then a spotlight swooped across the roof of the next building, scouring the shadows as it arced toward us. "Oh crap. Run!"

Sophia and I bolted with Camden on our heels. We dove through the door to the stairwell. Two minutes later we slipped into the zoo that was Zane's living room liek we'd been there all alone.

Sophia and Camden collapsed on the couch, laughing, but I couldn't-not with my heart still lodged in my throat. The loud music and press of bodies weren't helping. There had to be at least twenty-five kids in the apartment, all face to face and breathing on each other. Some were even kissing. No, not just kissing. Old-fashioned kissing. Actually swapping spit. I couldn't dig out my hand sanitizer fast enough. Had they slept through every health class we'd ever taken, starting in kindergarten?

A pack of guys charged past me howling like wolves, carrying a laughing girl. "Not on the couch." Zane shouted just as they tumbled the girl onto it, shoes and all.

Between the noise and Sohpia's vest doubling as a tourniquet, I couldn't even breathe my way into a zen state. I reached for the top snap, then noticed Zane watching me. We'd spent a lot of time online this week, planning our failed venture, but he'd thrown in a lot of cheesy compliments, too. Now that we were together for real, I didn't want him getting the wrong idea. I left the vest snapped and picked up my dial. With a touch, I deleted the brief recording of the wall-aka incriminating evidence-and then hit record and made a show of filming the party.

I wound my way through the crowd and onto the balcony to see what was happening on the wall. Nothing much. The guards were back in position. They must have found the broken toy and decided it wasn't worth investigating further. At least, I hoped that's what they'd decided.

For once I was grateful for the the vars that enclosed high-rise balconies. Usually they made me feel like a caged bird, but tonight that cage was helping to keep me from the guard's view. Our parents liked to call the bars _trellises_ and said that they'd been installed to support climbing vines. Who were they kidding? We knew the cages were yet another safety measure. Were kids really falling off balconies right and left before the plague? Doubtful. But there was no reasoning with a nation of trauma survivors.

"Sorry about your camera." Zane joined me by the finely wrought bars.

"That's okay. It was an old one. I figured it-" He angled in for a kiss, his mouth on mine before I could think to side-step him. Now, with the bars at the back and him leaning into me, it was too late. No matter how gently I pushed him off or squirmed away, it would end up awkward and awful. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, I just didn't want him exhaling on my cheek or-suddenly his kiss turned wet as he tried to push his tongue into my mouth.

I wrenched my face aside, ducked under his arm, and stepped free.

"What's wrong?" He asked, sounding more confused than hurt.

I dragged a hand across my lips before facing him.

"Sorry," I said, trying for a light tone. "Reality overload."

Zane's brows drew together, creasing his skin.

"But all week you-" A siren cut off his words. We stared wide-eyed at each other for a second and then whirled to peer through the balcony cage.

Sophia skidded out of the apartment. "Are the line guards coming for us?"

"No way," Zane said, though his voice quavered.

The siren screamed closer and then cut off abruptly. The flashing lights lit up the streets below. They were not atop a fire truck or police car but a gray van, which could mean only one thing...

Zane slumped against the bars in relief. "It's a biohaz wagon."

Six biohaz agents burst out of the back of the van and pushed through the building's gate. Biohaz agents spent their time rounding up serious threats to public health, like contaminated meat and quarantine breakers. They wouldn't waste their time with a toy hovercopter. The line guards might; the jumpsuits, not a chance.

After a sidelong glance, Zane clearly decided not to pick up the conversation where we'd left off. "Call me if they haul someone out," he said as he headed back into the apartment. "their faces crack me up. They never see it coming."

Sophia threw her hands up. "Well, there goes my night." Ad my blank look, she added, "my _parents_."

Right. Like those of the exodus generation who remembered (we didn't, we were too young at the time), Sophia's parents (her mom really, her dad had joined the military when Soph was three) were massively overprotective. My dad was paranoid too, but he traveled a lot for work, so he couldn't keep me under constant surveillance. Instead, he signed me up for survival skills classes. As if knowing how to make a basket out of bark would keep me alive if there was another outbreak.

"The jumpsuits could be after a Fetch," I said, feeling a twitch of excitement. Almost no one fetched stuff anymore, even though plenty of people would pay top dollar to have a beloved item retrieved from the Outside. But these days you had to be desperate or deranged to risk sneaking across the quarantine line. "Biohaz agents hunt down felons. Nobody you would have come in contact with."

Sophia gave me an odd look, then shook it off and demanded, "Are you using logic?"

"Oh, right." I smiled. "Silly me."

She glared at the people gathering on the sidewalk. Many had taken out their dials to report the big event to friends or record the poor quarantine breaker's walk of shame.

"I may as well leave now," she grouched. "This is going to hit the Web before the jumpsuits even get the guy in the van."

And once his face got plastered across the news outlets, anyone who'd ever crossed his path would storm into an ER and demand a blood test. "I'll go, too," I told her. "I need to get home and feed the gang."

She gave me a faint smile. "Your pets can go an hour without you. Stay. One of us should get to live a little."

A voice from inside the living room shouted, "Turn down the music! Someone's banging on the door."

They sure were. So loudly we could hear it on the balcony. The music shut off abruptly.

"Hey, who said-" Zane's shout was obliterated by the bang of teh door opening, followed by a girl's scream.

"Don't move!" Ordered a male voice.

Sophia and I exchanged an alarmed look and rushed into the living room.

"I said, nobody move!" Agents in paper-thin jumpsuits and disposable face masks fanned out across the room. Only their eyes were visible. Not that we needed to see more to know that they meant business.

When Sophia slipped an arm through mine, I shot her a sympathetic look. Knowing her parents, they weren't going to let her leave their apartment for the next year after this.

"It was just a hovercopter," Zane said weakly. "We didn't-"

A jumpsuit stopped in front of him. "Is this your home?"

Zane's nod was barely perceptible.

"We're here to collect Bianca Solace-di Angelo," the jumpsuit said. "Point her out."

My vision blurred into a single white smear at the end of a long tunnel. Bianca Solace-di Angelo-me. They'd come for _me_. But why? I'd never been anywhere. Biohaz squads rounded up line crossers and criminals, not a homebody who spent her Saturday nights editing shots about the local animal shelter.

Sophia's hold on my arm tightened like a blood pressure cuff. "That can't be right."

The squeeze should have jerked me into the moment but somehow I'd floated up to the ceiling. At least, that's how it felt-like I had an overhead view of everyone's reaction, could see them all backing away from me.

The jumpsuit pivoted to Sophia. "Are you Bianca Solace-di Angelo?"

"No. Sophia Grace."

"But you know her."

The threat of having to be identified snapped me back into my body. "Me." It came out as a croak. Swallowing, I tried again. "I'm Bianca." The jumpsuit slid his focus to me, assessing. Was i going to be a problem? "Get your things." He ordered me forward with a curl of his gloved hand.

"Wait!" Sophia cried. "You can't just haul her off without a reason."

Sensing trouble, the other jumpsuits closed in. "We have a reason," the main jumpsuit replied in a voice devoid of feeling. "Potential exposure."

I gasped. "To what?"

Why had I even bothered to ask? Only one disease brought the jumpsuits out of their dungeon. Now I watched the mans mask move as his lips shaped the answer I didn't really need.

"The Ferae Naturae virus."

Ferae Naturae: _of a wild nature_. Supposedly it was a fitting name for the virus that had killed 40 percent of America's population, though some people said that it described how Ferae affected the uninfected. Their natures turned quite wild when confronted with the virus's existence. Like now, I realized, seeing the growing anger is my classmate's expressions. I had just ruined their senior year of high school. Even if my blood test came back clean, there would be no more in-person get-togethers where a laugh could spray microscopic dots of saliva into someone else's eyes. The only contact they would be allowed to have would be through computer screens. We were too young to remember when the epidemic decimated much of the country, but we'd all grown up with the gruesome photos and footage-images that had to be flooding their minds now.

Backing off, Zane swiped his hand across his mouth. "Crap, I kissed you!"

Yeah, suddenly they all seemed of a wild nature. So I didn't resist when the jumpsuit ushered me toward the door. I would much rather be poked and prodded in a quarantine center than ripped into bloody chunks by my classmates.

Sophia took up my free hand, which surprised me. For all she knew, I could be contagious. "What are you doing?"

"Coming with you," she announced, her expression defiant.

The jumpsuit stopped short. "You're not. She's wanted for questioning and you're staying here." He faced the room. "You're all under house quarantine. No one comes or goes, except medical personnel."

Sophia's grip on my hand tightened. I stared at our entwined fingers and swallowed against the rising ache in my throat.

Zane shoved through the crowd. "How long are you going to keep us here?"

"Until you've all been tested and the results are in," the jumpsuit said in a flat tone. "Only a clear negative gets you out of here."

Swearing under his breath, Zane snatched a bottle of vodka from his mom's liquor cabinet and took a gulp, but didn't swallow. Instead, he threw his head back and gargled the alcohol.

"Let go of her," the jumpsuit told Sophia. "Now."

Reluctantly she released my hand.

Maybe Sophia couldn't come with me, but she'd tried. I wanted to throw my arms around her and cry and thank her for being such a loyal friend. Actually, she'd gone beyond friendship. I should know.

Zane angled closer, glaring at me. He gave the vodka in his mouth one last loud swish and then spat it on the floor within an inch of my foot.

* * *

When we exited the elevator into the marble and glass lobby, the jumpsuit clamped a gloved hand on my arm, as if I was going to try to make a break for it. The doorman practically dove out of the way as the biohaz agents propelled me through the glass door and onto the sidewalk. So many glowering faces. My stomach coiled in on itself. As soon as I was within five feet of them, the gawkers skittered back. Then they lifted their dials and my humiliation was complete. My vision blurred as I ducked my head.

A jumpsuit opened the back door of the van and threw me forward. My knees locked. I couldn't climb inside the van. I didn't know these men.

"Move it," the jumpsuit growled. Clearly stranger-danger rules didn't apply to government agents.

Much of the van was crammed with high-tech equipment, all clicking and humming. I squeezed onto a metal bench. The agent clambered in, pulled the door closed, and settled on the bench across from me. Through the Plexiglass partition, I saw the other jumpsuit drop into the driver's seat.

"Give me your dial," the man ordered through his mask.

I wanted to use it to call out live-in housekeeper, Jules-Albert, and let him know what was happening, but I slipped the chain from around my neck and handed over my dial. The careless way the jumpsuit clicked through my screens made my face burn. Or maybe I was coming down with a fever...

The first symptom of Ferae was a high fever-really high, as in usually fatal. I clenched my hand to keep from pressing my palm across my forehead to check my temperature. I didn't want the jumpsuit to think I was worried about my health. Because I wasn't. I did not have Ferae. I couldn't.

Dogs barked on my dial as the jumpsuit watched one of my shelter clips. "You're a real budding filmmaker, aren't you, Bianca?" He said after a moment.

Yes, ever since I had learned that the fastest way to get people to care about neglected animals was to _show_ them the animals. But what did that matter to this guy? "It's Bee."

He glanced up. "What?"

"I go by Bee." Only my dad called me by my full name, Bianca Delphi Solace-di Angelo. It was for his sister, Bianca, and also where he'd met my daddy, a place called Delphi Strawberries. People his age, they owned sentimental, which is why so many of them had named their kids after beloved places-places they knew they would never see again.

The jumpsuit set my dial aside. "Okay, _Bee_. What do you say we get down to business." He dragged a metal box from under the bench and opened it on the floor between us.

"Put out your arm."

I braced myself against the vehicle's sway. "Why?"

"So we can test your blood. Don't you want to know if you've been infected?"

"How could I have gotten infected?"

"Spec sheet didn't say." He tossed a folded paper into my lap. It was a list of attributes and addresses, a summarization of me. The addresses belonged to my friends, the animals shelter where I volunteered, two of my favorite coffee shops, and there were several more that I didn't recognize which was just as well because I was already thouroughly creeped out. The description of me was the final insult: brown eyes, brown hair, average build. Why not just say average everything? Instead of smashing the paper into a ball and throwing it at him like I wanted, I handed it back without a word.

"Put out your arm," he repeated.

When I hesitated, he snagged me by the wrist and pulled my arm straight. He took a hypodermic needle from the box on the floor, and suddenly I was seized with the urge to bite his hand and free myself.

But I didn't.

I smothered the impulse; I'd never do something so disgusting. So feral. I relaxed my arm and looked away as he inserted the needle.

* * *

I figured that I should probably be grateful I wasn't marched through the quarantine center through the front door. Instead, when I was nudged out of the van, I landed in what looked like an empty warehouse except for the stacked cots along the walls. I breathed against the pinch of Sophia's vest and tightened my ponytail.

A new jumpsuit awaited us, her face mask firmly in place. A one-woman welcoming committee. Her spiky gray hair didn't move as she strode forward, tablet in hand. I saw my school photo on its screen.

"Bianca Solace-di Angelo?" The woman clearly knew she had the right girl, but she waited for my nod before continuing. "I'm Director Taryn Spurling. Head of Biohazard Defense." She turned to the jumpsuit who'd brought me. "Did you get a sample?"

He handed her the vial of my blood and my dial.

"Is someone going to tell my dad I'm here?" My voice came out higher than usual.

Above her face mask, Director Spurling's laser-blue eyes sharpened. "You know where he is?"

"Visiting galleries in Colorado. He's an art dealer."

She stiffened. "You're going to have to do better than that, Bianca. A lot better. You see, I've got all the evidence I need. I can issue an order anytime to have your father shot on sight."

Her words punched the air out of my lungs. "For what?"

"You're not going to help him by lying."

"But he _is_ an art dealer," I said helplessly.

"Yes, of course." She spoke through a clenched jaw. "that's where the big money is. But my sources tell me that Nico di Angelo will retrieve _anything_ if the price is right."

"Retrieve?" Understanding crawled out of the primordial mud of my mind, tiny and grasping. "You mean from the other side of the wall..."

"Now that look almost works. You almost have me believing that you don't know"-Spurling leaned in until her face mask grazed my ear-"that your father is a Fetch."

I recoiled. "No. That's not true."

Under that mask, the woman was smirking. I was sure of it. Well, Director Spurling was wrong. Dead wrong. My dad was no Fetch. He got cold pains in his arms, wore contacts, and was ADHD. Him, scale the Titan wall and sneak into the Feral Zone? Not possible. But the word "fetch" had triggered my memory of the last Fetch they'd arrested. He'd been executed by a firing squad in front of the Titan. As always, our online classes had been cancelled so that we could do the patriotic thing and watch the event in real time. The worst moment wasn't when the bullets flung the man against the wall, as awful as that had been to see. It had been when they'd forced a black hood over his head, making him face death in total darkness. That seemed beyond cruel.

"Put her in a containment room." Director Spurling's thin voice dragged me back into the moment.

"You're keeping me here?" I began to sweat, which plastered the vinyl vest to my skin.

Spurling didn't spare a glance, just headed for the door, tossing off a last order as she passed the jumpsuit.

"Call me if she's alive in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

 **Sup. I've been wanting to work on this for months. Here ya go**

* * *

I paced the cold, white box of a room. I'd been stuck in there for just over an hour and already I was losing it. It was too much like a hospital room. Too much like where my daddy had spent his last days. But Director Spurling could lock me up for months if she felt like it. The Biohazard Defense Department had the authority to do whatever was deemed necessary to keep the nation safe.

What did it matter if they kept me in quarantine forever? I flopped onto the small, starchy bed. Even if I didn't have Ferae — and I absolutely, positively didn't — life as I knew it was over. A sneeze sent people running. A rumor of serious illness, even if it wasn't contagious, turned a person into a pariah. I'd learned that when my daddy's cancer diagnosis set off a chain reaction of hysteria. Within days of his first chemo treatment, he was fired without notice. My father's gallery business dried up. But hardest to understand was the way our friends cut off all contact once they heard the news. I wasn't invited to a single birthday party or sleepover that year. Since our extended family had all died during the plague, in the end, as my daddy grew sicker and sicker, it was just the three of us. Now we were a family of two, me and Dad.

The image of the last fetch — hooded and flailing as the bullets hit — dropped into my mind. I buried my face in the pillow. The longer I stayed trapped in this room, the harder it was to convince myself that Director Spurling was full of crap. She had sounded certain in a way that usually came with proof. Plus, the more I considered our life, the more suspect it seemed. Dad's monthly business trips. The never-ending supply of valuable art. We didn't live extravagantly, but I had wondered if my dad's gallery was doing better than he let on. We had so much original art — paintings by Rothko, O'Keeffe, Lucian Freud, and more — hanging on our apartment walls. It was especially sketchy considering he'd had to declare bankruptcy after my daddy died. His hospital bills had created a gaping crater of debt and yet, within eight years, Dad had not only paid it all off, but also built up savings. Definitely sketchy.

"Your name is on everything in case something happens to me," he'd said once while giving me keys to several deposit boxes, all at different banks. At the time, I'd figured that something meant a terminal illness or car accident — not execution.

At least the biohaz agents hadn't arrested him. It was obvious Spurling didn't know where my father was and thought that I did. Probably because most parents didn't leave their kids with the housekeeper for a week every month with no way of contacting them. And I'd put it down as another one of Dad's quirks: He hated dials and refused to carry one. What if all along his real reason for not calling was that he'd been in a place where dials didn't work?

So, if my father wasn't in California and the biohaz agents didn't have him, where was he?

 _Please, please don't be in the Feral Zone._

If he was on the other side of the wall, he couldn't stay there forever … and not just because of the risk of infection. The only people living in the Feral Zone today were banished criminals. My art-loving father wouldn't last a week.

Footsteps clacked in the corridor outside my door. I sat up as the lock of my containment room clicked and the door opened. A woman with sharp features and spiky gray hair stepped in. Director Spurling, without a face mask, without a jumpsuit. It could mean only one thing.

"You got my blood test back." I scrambled off the bed. "I'm fine."

"Would I be standing here if you were infected?"

A weight seemed to slip from my shoulders like a sodden coat. I hadn't even realized how worried I'd been. Some tiny part of me must have thought there was a chance that I'd been exposed. Probably the same part that was beginning to believe that my dad might be a fetch.

Spurling held out my dial. In her tightly cut black suit, computer tablet in hand, she was more than a little intimidating.

"Are you letting me go?" I slipped the dial's chain over my head.

"It's an option, but not one that will help your father."

"I don't know where he is. Really."

"I've been thinking, Bianca, that perhaps this situation can be salvaged. Follow me." Pivoting on her heel, Spurling strode away.

What else could I do? I followed. Though I couldn't help noticing that Director Spurling was moving suspiciously fast and that there were no other agents around. In fact, the halls were so empty they echoed. Every containment room we passed was empty too. Yes, it was late, but the whole scene felt wrong. "Where are we going?"

"We're problem solving."

"What does that mean?" I spotted a floating camera bot bobbing near the ceiling, but it didn't rotate as we walked past, meaning it wasn't recording us. Had Spurling turned off the security cameras? As director of biohaz she had the power to do anything she wanted. When she didn't answer my question, I slowed and put on my ice face. "I'd rather problem solve with my father's lawyer here."

Spurling turned so fast that I had to sidestep to keep from plowing into her. She thrust her computer tablet under my nose. "Don't get smart with me, Bianca. I have a whole file on you. I know about the orienteering and the self-defense classes. You think I can't guess why you take them?"

"Because my dad makes me." Other kids were forced to take piano lessons, but I had to suffer through night hikes in the park and memorize an attacker's five most vulnerable areas — eyes, ears, throat, shin, groin. Considering that our live-in housekeeper was an ex-Marine and our apartment building was tricked out like Fort Knox — as most were, in case of another plague — I didn't really need to know how to chop someone in the windpipe. Not that I was going to say this to Director Spurling, who looked like she'd chopped many a windpipe.

"Of course he makes you," she snapped. "You're his apprentice." My surprise came out as a laugh, which I turned into a cough.

"He takes you out and times you running," she went on. "Why would he do that unless he's training you to be a fetch?" I eased back a step. She was a little too invested in her theory.

"Actually, I asked him to. I've been trying to break my —"

"Shut up."

I obeyed instantly since Spurling seemed on the verge of beating me to death with her computer tablet.

"I have been working on this investigation for five years, Bianca. Five years of trying to coerce rich scumbags into giving up their art supplier. They're like drug addicts, thinking only about their next fix. They'll clam up and lawyer up long before they'll tell you who their dealer is. But last year, I got a solid lead on your father. And finally, finally, I have the evidence against him and where is he? Poof, gone." She glared as if I had personally hidden him away.

"I don't accept that. Not after all the effort I've put into getting Nico DiAngelo right where I want him. Now walk."

Spurling pointed down the corridor, which ended at a massive steel door, made all the creepier by the bar across it, guaranteeing that it stayed shut. I focused on the bar in order to control the pricking sensation behind my eyes. If I dashed back the way we'd come, I could outrun this sadist in heels. But that wouldn't help my dad.

"If you're trying to make yourself cry, don't bother. I had my heart surgically removed when I took this job." She headed for the door. "Come on. Your father is going to need every minute."

I glanced up. What did that mean?

"I first got whiff of him," Spurling said, now sounding positively conversational, "at a dinner party." She didn't slow her pace, so I was forced to catch up. "There I noticed a landscape by Ferdinand Hodler on the wall." She heaved aside the bolt. "It was an incredible moment. Not for the host, of course. He'd thought it was a safe-enough painting to hang in his dining room. Hodler is a fairly obscure Swiss artist. But I'm from Chicago." She glanced at me as if to check that I was paying attention. "And I'd seen that particular blue mountainscape many times … in the Art Institute."

"How is that an incredible moment?"

"Because it meant that some fetch had traveled all the way to Chicago and back — deep into the quarantine zone. No other fetch I've heard of will go that far, no matter how much a client offers."

Spurling pressed a key fob to a pad, which unlocked the door. As it slid open, a sigh of cold air prickled my skin. Lights flickered on to reveal metal stairs descending into darkness.

Seeing my hesitation, she said,

"We're going under the wall,"and started down the stairs. "So, I did a little digging," she said, continuing with her story without so much as a backward glance, "and found more valuable paintings here, in the West — paintings by Matisse, van Gogh, and Renoir — all from the Art Institute of Chicago and all on record as having been left behind." As we rounded each bend in the stairwell, a new set of lights flickered on. The air smelled musty, and I felt like I was breathing in decades of old pain and fear.

"What makes you think my father fetched them?"

"I don't think, I know he did."

I swallowed. Again the fate of the last fetch played like a viral clip in my mind. Another heavy steel door awaited us at the bottom of the stairs. Spurling swiped her fob across the pad. This door slid open with a hiss to reveal a darkness so cold and profound that dread swelled like a wave and crashed over me.

Spurling swept her hand toward the doorway. "After you."

I paused, unable to see anything in the darkness before me. I hoped that this wasn't a trick — that if I stepped into the room "Spurling wouldn't slam the door behind me, lock it, and leave me alone in the dark. Inhaling deeply, I stepped through the doorway and felt rewarded when the overhead lights snapped on to reveal an enormous white-tiled chamber. The air was stale, and dust coated the sparse furnishings: desks, chairs, and posts connected by chains to form a labyrinth of aisles.

"What is this place?" I eyed the two steel doors ten feet apart on the far wall. The doors were identical to the one we'd just come through. More camera bots floated like buoys inches from the high ceiling.

"It was a checkpoint chamber. One of ten entry points into the West." Director Spurling waved a hand at the door on the left. "The tunnel is just six hundred feet long, the width of the bottom of the wall, but with the security checks, it took days to reach this room. The people who didn't pass the medical tests were forced to return to the East through that door." Spurling pointed to the one on the right. Shivering, I looked away, only to notice a beat-up leather satchel on the chair beside me.

"Recognize it?" Spurling "asked in a silky tone.

I inhaled sharply and then wished I'd hidden my reaction — but she already knew the messenger bag was my dad's. This was her show, and I was just playing the part I'd been assigned.

Hefting the bag onto a desk, she dumped out the contents. Curiosity drew me closer. Some of the items could have belonged to anyone: a flashlight, rolled bandages, a bottle of iodine, matches, a map. But the bone-handled machete was unquestionably my dad's. And then there was the long rolled canvas stuffed into the side pocket. I didn't know what it was specifically, but I'd seen my father with others like it.

Spurling pulled the canvas free and unrolled it. "Personally, I've always thought Lautrec was gaudy and overrated." She turned the canvas toward me. It showed a nightclub scene. The top hats and gowns, the garish face in the foreground, were all rendered with distinctive "heavy contouring" as my dad would say — unmistakably Toulouse-Lautrec.

"It could be a copy." I knew how ridiculous that sounded the second the words were out of my mouth.

"I doubt Nico would risk his life for anything less than the original, "Spurling rerolled the canvas.

I flinched. "If that's all you've got against him — his bag — then —"

In answer, Spurling activated her tablet and tapped the screen. The fluorescent lights dimmed overhead and the chamber filled with spectral light as the camera bots projected a holographic recording of the very room we were standing in. Tracing her finger across her tablet, Spurling made the came"camera bots circle the ceiling until the projected twin doors were aligned with the actual doors. I braced myself for what was to come, curling my hands into fists.

"For the past year, I was convinced that your father was bribing some line guard to smuggle him over the wall. That's how most fetches get east. But I couldn't find any evidence of it. And then I remembered the exodus tunnels."

The projected images were shadowy, though clear enough that I could see the door on the right slide open.

"After the West closed," Spurling went on, "the tunnels were backfilled with twenty feet of rubble. But if someone wants something badly enough …"

The chamber brightened as a flashlight beam appeared in the open door. It took me a second to realize that it was part of the recorded projection.

Spurling's expression turned smug. "When I had the cameras installed last week, I didn't expect such a fast payoff."

I watched with dismay as a ghostly version of my father stepped through the steel door, his messenger bag in one hand. I scooted out of the way as he walked past, and then I caught Spurling's faint amusement. When the ghostlike form of my dad was halfway across the chamber, a red light started flashing. Behind him, the door began to slide shut. My father whirled and raced for the tunnel, darting right through me. At the last second, he slipped sideways into the opening, but the messenger bag in his hand was too big and he dropped it just as the door closed.

Spurling frowned and froze the image. "He tripped the motion sensor, which was supposed to lock down this chamber with him in it. That way he and I could have had a face-to-face chat. Instead, I have an overflowing case file, damning evidence, and a missing fetch. That wasn't the plan."

A knot of pain tightened in my gut. It tightened and tightened, hard and cold, until it was the only thing I felt. Why had she shown me this? My father was all I had and she knew it.

"What do you want?"

She turned off the projection and the lights came back on. "I just told you," she said, tucking the tablet under her arm. "I want to talk to Nico privately, but at this point, that's not going to happen. "By "talk to" she meant "arrest." Why didn't she just say it?

Because she doesn't want to arrest him, I realized with icy clarity. She wants something else.

Spurling watched me without a word, as if willing me to piece it together.

I drew in a shuddering breath. So, what did she want? To talk to Nico privately, or so she'd said. But that wasn't really it. No, what Director Spurling specifically wanted was to talk to a fetch. One who had been all the way to Chicago and back … My heart rose in my chest. Maybe my dad's fate wasn't sealed after all.

"You want him to fetch something for you. Something you left behind in Chicago."

"Aren't you the bright one?" Spurling took a cream-colored envelope from her suit pocket. "If Mack brings me what I want, I'll destroy the recording and his file. All the information he'll need is in here." She handed me the envelope.

I stiffened, seeing the catch. "I can't give it to him. I don't know where he is."

"Oh, but you do." She tipped her head toward the twin steel doors.

A heavy wave of cold moved through me. "You want me to go into the Feral Zone?"

"Of course not. You'd never make it across the river. Go as far as Arsenal Island."

My vision tunneled. Spurling, the envelope, the chamber, all slipped back as if to give me room to think. She was offering me the chance to save my dad. I didn't need to think. I'd do whatever it took — even cross the quarantine line.

Spurling watched me with sharp eyes. "You want to help your father, don't you?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Good." She began putting my dad's things back into the messenger bag, all except the rolled canvas and the map. "There's a doctor on Arsenal Island — Dr. William Solace." She spread the map on the table and pointed to a rectangular island in the middle of the Mississippi River. "Dr. Solace will probably know where your father is. He has an ongoing deal with Nico."

"What kind of deal?"

Spurling gave me a thin smile. "I'm not at liberty to say. Just know that I have chosen to look the other way when it comes to Dr. Solace's activities … for now anyway."

The map had been printed pre-exodus — there was no symbol on it to indicate the Titan wall, which ran from the Canadian "border with its trenches and electrified fence to the Gulf of Mexico. Also, the map showed dozens of bridges crossing the Mississippi River when only one was still in existence. Known as "the last bridge," it crossed into the quarantine zone by way of Arsenal Island. Everybody knew that. Everybody also knew that the last bridge was heavily guarded.

"Isn't Arsenal Island a line patrol camp?"

"It is. Dr. Solace lives there with the guards. So, don't get caught," Spurling said as if it was no big deal. "If you do, don't expect me to intervene on your behalf. I'll deny everything. By the way, when you find Nico, tell him that he has five days to complete the fetch."

"Why only five days?"

"The patrol is shoring up the rubble along the east side of the wall. They start work on these tunnels Thursday morning." She flicked a hand at the two steel doors.

"Tell them not to!"

Spurling arched a penciled brow. "The line guards work for the Titan Corporation. They don't take orders from government officials, not even me."

"But what if it takes me five days to find him?"

"Arsenal Island is directly on the other side of the wall. It should take you ten minutes to get there. After that, either Dr. Solace knows where Nico is hiding or he doesn't. If he doesn't, do not go looking for your father. Just come back here and press the call button outside that door. I'll come get you."

"If I try but don't find my dad, will you still destroy the evidence against him?"

"Please. Why would I put myself at risk if I have nothing to show for it?"

"But —"

"The more time you waste now, the less Nico will have for the fetch."

Before my legs locked up entirely, I slung the deadweight of the messenger bag over my shoulder and picked up the map. I would find my father and give him the letter and then he'd do the fetch and everything would go back to normal. I could do this. I would do this. And I wasn't going to freak out about it … much.

I lifted my dial. "I need to call our housekeeper and tell him that I'm okay." Jules-Albert had to have heard from some parent that I'd been hauled off by biohaz agents. He was probably outside the quarantine center at this moment, trying to kick down the door.

"Jules-Albert was arrested hours ago." Spurling's tone was offhanded. "I have to say, for an old guy, he's a tough nut to crack."

"Crack?"

"He's being questioned about his knowledge of your father's illegal activities."

I stared at her, wanting to shout that Howard didn't know anything. But was that true? I wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"By the way," she went on, "we dropped off your pets at the local shelter. You have until the end of the week to claim them."

And I'd thought this woman couldn't make me hate her any more. "What if I can't?"

"Well, someone might adopt the one-eyed dog or the diabetic cat, but the rest? Even you have to admit they're a pretty sorry lot."

I drew a breath against the tightness in my chest. Director Spurling had just painted a bulls-eye on everyone and everything I loved. And if I didn't do what she wanted, she was going to "start pulling the trigger. I cleared my throat. "I'd like to get going now, if that's okay."

"Of course." She led me across the room to the twin doors. "I knew you were the right girl for the job, Bianca," she said, and pressed her fob to the pad on the wall.

The door on the right rolled open and I found myself staring into a gaping darkness. Feeling close to heart failure, I stepped into the tunnel.

"One last thing," she said. "I'm sure you've heard that the Ferae virus isn't as lethal as it was nineteen years ago."

I nodded, though I wasn't planning on testing it out.

"Then you've probably also heard that instead of dying, when people get infected now, they mutate."

A cold feeling crept along my neck. "Those are just stories."

"No, actually, they're not. So be careful."

Every muscle in my body went rigid. "What? Are you saying there are mutants over there?"

"On the far side of the river, yes. Stick to the island and you should be fine. Good luck, Bianca." Spurling pressed the lock pad again and the door slid shut behind me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N It's Monday. Yay. Hope y'all are having a better day than I am.**

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 **Review Replies:**

 **Anushri Bhende (Guest) : Hold it! Where were you? It's been more than a year now!**

 **Also. who was Bianca's other father if not will**

 **I know it's been more than a year. I've had a baaaaddd last year. Everything's much better now, other than my physical** **health. But I'm getting better. And I never said Bee's daddy wasn't Will.**

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The instant the enormous door closed, darkness engulfed me, sending me into a frenzy to get the flashlight out of the messenger bag. I switched it on but didn't feel any calmer.

Mutate how? I wanted to scream through the steel. The rumors I'd heard were never clear on that point. The only consistent part was that criminals who were banished to the Feral Zone ended up deformed somehow. But who believed stories that were whispered at slumber parties?

I couldn't catch my breath, and it wasn't because of the stupid too-tight vest this time. I leaned back against the cold metal door and aimed the flashlight down the tunnel. The beam pushed the shadows back only a few feet and the air tasted of mold and decay.

Enough. I had to get moving. If I didn't find my dad, if he didn't complete the fetch, Spurling wouldn't destroy the evidence against him. I forced myself to start walking, though seeing nothing but darkness ahead was plucking at my last nerve. With each step I took, I felt like I wasn't traveling forward but back through time, and when I reached the end of the tunnel, I'd emerge into the most horrific event in American history. I aimed the flashlight's beam at walls covered in graffiti — names, prayers, and notes from people who had been sent back into the Feral Zone.

I lifted my dial. There was no phone signal, of course — not under tons of concrete. Still, I tapped the screen and let the dial hang from my neck, where it would record whatever I passed. My footsteps echoed off the concrete floor and ceiling, which would alert anyone or anything up ahead that I was coming. Shaking off that unhelpful thought, I moved on and came to an open suitcase with clothing spilling out. In the beam of the flashlight, I saw more suitcases and bags scattered ahead, along with random possessions: a bottle of Scotch, the Bible, a child's tin robot. And then more ominous items: a handgun and gas mask that stopped me in my tracks. Talk about a reality overload.

What was I doing here? No matter what Spurling wanted to tell herself, I hadn't been trained as an apprentice fetch. I wasn't prepared to venture into the Feral Zone. Or anywhere, really. My dad had hired Jules-Albert to be my bodyguard as much as our housekeeper.

The weight of the wall pressed down on me. The tons of ugly concrete had been so hastily piled, who knew if it was structurally sound? Everything about the plague had been hasty. The speed with which the virus overtook the eastern seaboard. How quickly the rest of the world cut us off. The hurried mass exodus to the Inside. And the erection of first a fence and then the wall, courtesy of the Titan Corporation. Titan had been required to build the wall in reparation for creating the _Ferae_ virus. A just punishment. Or so I'd thought until now as I stood beneath the result.

I hurried on, humming to distract myself, but then heard the sound echoing off the tunnel walls. I fell silent. The last thing I wanted was to attract something's attention. I picked up my pace and didn't stop again until I stepped into a cavernous room like the one I'd just left. A checkpoint chamber. My flashlight beam swept the dusty air. Across the room, a sloping rock pile blocked off the passageway. I hurried toward it, only to trip halfway. The flashlight flew from my grip as I landed on something stiff and dry. Crawling over it, I snatched up the flashlight and looked to see what I'd fallen over. My chest compressed, forcing the air from my lungs and a scream from my throat. Dozens of dried-up corpses lay scattered across the floor. Worse, some were in pieces. Shriveled limbs were flung every which way like hunks of beef jerky.

I scrambled back so far that my shoulders banged into the wall. I stayed huddled there, heart pounding, until I was certain that if I got to my feet, I wouldn't bolt back the way I'd come. Mummified corpses couldn't hurt me. They had to have been lying here since the exodus ended seventeen years ago. These were people who'd been denied entry into the Inside — probably because they'd been infected.

I shoved my flashlight under one arm and pulled out my hand sanitizer. According to my tenth grade biology teacher, you couldn't catch _Ferae_ from dirt or grime, which this chamber was crusted with, or a corpse, even if the person had died from _Ferae._ Just the same, I squeezed sanitizing gel into my shaking hands. _Ferae_ was like rabies, passed on by the bite of an infected mammal … humans included. That's why people said we could never reclaim the Outside — because there would always be animals that carried the disease, and we had no vaccine for _Ferae_ and no cure.

That didn't matter though, because I wasn't going to get infected with _Ferae_. I flicked the flashlight forward and made a wide semicircle past the corpses, while facts about the early days of the plague crowded my mind. How the infected became aggressively psychotic — like rabies times ten — and would go in search of people to bite: doctors who were trying to help them, friends, even family. The military had been forced to firebomb a lot of the Outside cities to stop infected people and animals from spreading the virus.

The rubble was stacked up to the ceiling. After a moment of scanning my flashlight across the sloping mess, I spotted a gap at the top where fresh air drifted in. My nerves jumped: What if an infected person had wiggled through that hole and had been inside the tunnel with me all along? I whirled, my flashlight beam whipping around the chamber. Nothing. But now my heart was beating triple-time and sweat slicked my palms — not so good for rock climbing. But then, neither were high-heeled ankle boots.

To even have a shot at making it to the top, I'd need to use both hands. I set my dial on glow — enough to see by — and left it recording. Why not document my first glimpse of the Outside? After one last scan of the chamber, I turned off the flashlight and stuffed it into the messenger bag. I reached for a large chunk of broken cement for leverage, only to recoil from the slimy feel of it. Water had trickled in through the hole along with the air. The whole rock spill was a slippery mess. Heart still on overdrive, I started up the treacherous mound, backsliding every few feet. While I climbed, I kept my eyes pinned to the gap in the rubble above, just in case something crawled in.

Finally I reached the hole, a long burrow with a lighter shade of dark at the end. It was so narrow, I couldn't believe that my father had managed to get through it. But he had. And so would I. I took off the bag, pushed it into the space ahead of me, and with a deep breath I wiggled in.

A glimmer of moonlight beckoned me forward as I crawled across the jagged rocks that lined the burrow. No, wrong word. This felt less like a bunny warren and more like I'd been buried alive. My hands and forearms were bruised, scraped, and cut by the time I reached the end, grateful to peer out and breathe the warm night air. I could hear the sound of rushing water and even see Arsenal Island, smack in the middle of the Mississippi River, the last stop before the Feral Zone.

The island glowed as though it generated its own sunshine via giant floodlights. In contrast, the bridge leading to the island was just a looming shadow over the water. The only illuminated area on my side of the river was the blacktopped landing pad next to the bridge's entry gate. A spotlight swept across the jeeps and hovercopters parked to one side, and onto the rocky hill that led down to the river. When the spotlight arced back to zip along the base of the wall, I ducked into the hole again like a skittish rabbit.

Once the spotlight passed, I crept out onto the top of a bulldozed mountain of debris made up of earth, bricks, and chunks of cement mixed with broken glass, pipes, and roof shingles. A tetanus infection just waiting to happen. I perched on the rubble of what used to be the east side of Davenport. At the bottom, the bricks and cement chunks spilled onto a muddy patrol road, which meant that line guards could drive by in one of their open-topped jeeps at any moment.

I waited for the spotlight to move onto the hill again and picked my way down the wreckage, stepping as lightly as I could. Even so, rocks spilled down behind me. When I finally stepped onto the unpaved road, I found a length of pipe and jammed it into the foot of the rubble pile as a marker. Okay, orienteering, not a complete waste of time. I paused to look back at the wall, so massive that it blocked out most of the night sky. A small thrill wound through me at seeing the Titan from this side — in person no less, not via toy hovercopter. Was it really just hours ago that I'd stood on Zane's roof hoping for a glimpse of the Outside? It felt like days ago, and yet I was still squeezed into Sophia's vest.

Her white vest, which in the moonlight may as well have been phosphorescent.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into wearing this," I muttered and undid my ponytail so that my hair fell down my back in dark waves. My hair was thick and long but it didn't hide the vest completely. "And I know you said don't get it dirty, but … sorry." I scooped up a handful of mud. Ew. How many germs were cupped in my palm? I couldn't think about it. I smeared the mud over the exposed parts of the vest — grimacing the whole time — and then wiped my hands on my jeans and rubbed them down with more hand sanitizer.

Now what? I knew where I was supposed to go — Arsenal Island — but I didn't dare just start walking. I slung off my messenger bag, unzipped it, and went through its contents more carefully than I had under Spurling's watchful eye. The flashlight, the bandages, the iodine, the matches, the map, the machete — I didn't even want to consider what I might need that for — and finally, a silver badge embossed with the words Line Patrol. I stuffed it all back into the bag except for the badge. What had Dad used this for? A single badge wouldn't get him past a sentry. I flipped the badge over but there was nothing written on the back, just stiff black plastic.

Something glimmered in my peripheral view. I glanced across the road. A greenish glow had appeared on the ground at the base of a tree. I grabbed the messenger bag and jogged closer. The tree was leafless, dead. The crater next to it suggested an explosion. I reached out to touch the trunk, and my fingertips came back dusted with soot. _The skeleton tree, black as night._

This burnt hunk of wood was exactly how I'd pictured the skeleton tree in my dad's stories. Maybe this blackened tree marked the start of a path as well. I'd just have to keep away from the harpy eggs….

All right, now I was getting loopy. Though it did make sense that my dad's stories would come to mind now. When I was little, I always asked him to tell them when I was scared of the dark, or sad — two emotions I was definitely feeling right now.

In the time that I'd been standing there, the greenish light on the ground had grown brighter. I crouched. A fist-sized rock was nestled among the tree roots and glowing like a firefly. I reached for it, but then some glimmer of a memory made me snatch back my hand.

Of course this glow-in-the-dark rock wasn't an exploding harpy egg from my dad's stories. But what if it was something just as lethal? Like maybe a land mine? The rocky hill between here and the riverbank was probably covered with them. I backed onto the road. How weird that I may have just avoided death because of a coincidence: that real-life land mines and imaginary harpy eggs both cast a green glow.

My knees locked as realization dropped on me like a cartoon anvil. It was not a coincidence. The exploding eggs in my father's stories were land mines. The burnt tree before me was the skeleton tree, black as night.

As the spotlight arced my way once more, I hurried back to the rubble pile and hunkered by a piece of a marble column. My mind spun. Why had my dad woven details from his life as a fetch into bedtime stories? Was Director Spurling right? Was he training me to be a fetch without telling me? Not a chance. He'd never willingly let me do something this dangerous.

Whatever his motive, I wasn't taking another step until I thought this through. Maybe there was a reason that his stories always began the same way.

 _In a very tall tower, next to a very tall mountain, there lived a little girl who longed to have an adventure. One day when she was walking along the base of the mountain, she discovered a cavern that was so long and deep, it took her through the mountain to the other side. When she stepped out of the cavern, she saw a river that was wide and wild. She also saw that across the river there was a magical forest just waiting to be explored. As she was about to make her way down to the riverbank, she heard a cry for help. Turning back, she saw that a sheep had gotten caught in an immense bramble bush at the foot of the mountain. Because the little girl had a kind heart, she helped the sheep free itself from the thorny brambles. This turned out to be a good thing, because the grateful sheep revealed that there was a secret way to get down to the riverbank. The sheep sat down on a boulder and, while using its own wool to knit a sweater, it told the little girl that she must look for the skeleton "tree, black as night, which marked the start of the path. If she strayed from that path, she might step on a harpy egg. They looked just like rocks, the sheep warned, except for their faint green glow. If you so much as nudged a harpy egg, it would burst into flames._

 _The little girl followed the sheep's instructions to the letter and made it safely down to the riverbank, only to discover that an army of silver robots guarded the only bridge across the river._

Up to this point in the story, the only detail my dad ever changed was the type of animal caught in the bramble bush. The animal's warning about the path to the riverbank was always the same — look for the skeleton tree and watch out for the harpy eggs. But once the girl made it down to the riverbank safely, her methods for getting past the killer robots varied. Sometimes she'd seek out the wizard who lived with the robots and spent his days devising magic potions….

Wait. A wizard surrounded by silver guys. Silver, as in light gray uniforms, maybe?

Okay, Dad, got it. Dr. Solace and the line guards. Wow, that wasn't even subtle. I got to my feet. I didn't need to take the story any further because I didn't need to know all the ways that the little girl made it across the bridge and into the magical forest. I wasn't going anywhere near the magical forest, aka the Feral Zone, even if that was where the little girl met the boy who lived all alone in a castle. He was wild and uncivilized and would say the rudest things imaginable, which, of course, delighted me when I was younger. Out of all of my dad's characters, the wild boy was my favorite. But tonight, there would be no wild boy, no bridge crossing, and no magic forest for me. All I had to do was talk to the wizard. Dr. Solace, who was surrounded by killer robots. With Uzis. No problem.

I studied the rocky hill that lay between the road and the riverbank. I didn't see any other green glowing spots on the slope below, but they were there for sure. If I couldn't see the land mines, how was I supposed to avoid them? Too bad there were no talking animals around to give me advice. I crept closer and suddenly the land mine by the blackened tree lit up again. Had I activated it by moving?

No. The land mines wouldn't glow in warning when you got close or quarantine breakers like me would just avoid them, making the mines pointless. However, the guards who set the mines would want to know where not to step….

I held out the patrol badge as far as I could without leaving the road. Not only did the glow by the tree intensify, but also, farther down the embankment, other rocks began to glow.

 _Thanks, Dad._

I zigzagged my way down the steep hill, steering clear of demolition wreckage, trees, and glowing harpy eggs. I headed for the landing pad next to the gated bridge. Of course, I still didn't know how I was going to get across the bridge or find Dr. Solace once I was in the patrol camp. For some reason I'd pictured a patrol camp as a few rows of tents — an image that had nothing to do with reality. How did the word camp apply to what looked like a medieval town, complete with limestone buildings and a clock tower? But that was most definitely the line patrol camp. The rows of barracks on the south end of the island was one giveaway, the high chain link fence topped with razor wire another. And then there were the spotlights and watchtowers.

How was I supposed to snoop around such a brightly lit and highly guarded island?

Pounding footsteps sent me darting behind a tree. When I dared to peer out, I saw a man throw open the gate, leap off the end of the bridge, and bound down the gravel slope to the riverbank. He took cover in the shadows as three more people burst through the gate and ran onto the landing strip. They paused under a floodlight to scan the area. With their crew cuts and military fatigues — gray on gray camouflage to match the wall — they had to be line guards. Also known as killer robots. After a moment of whispering, they fanned out.

I didn't dare hope that the fugitive hiding in the shadows below was my father. Though who else would be running from line guards? If that was my dad down there, he'd make a break for the tunnel at some point. I'd have my answer then. In the meantime, I was staying put.

The man stumbled along the dark riverbank and dropped behind a rubble pile, the remains of some demolished building. When he appeared on the other side of the rubble and started up the steep hill, hope rose in my chest. No way. My father, here, now. That would be too lucky.

The three guards exchanged hand signals that didn't take military training to figure out, and then two skidded down the gravel slope by the bridge. The tallest one jogged across the landing pad and disappeared behind a patch of scrubby bushes — gun in hand.

I had to see the fugitive's face. I spotted him crouching behind a rock outcropping halfway up the slope. Below him, the two guards swept the riverbank with flashlights. The bushes off to my left rustled. The third guard was closing in fast. I tucked the badge into the front of my vest and scurried along the ridgeline until I was directly above the fugitive, which meant closer to the lit-up landing pad. Not good. I crouched in the shadows and waited for the man to do something — to make a run up the hill. But the seconds ticked by and he remained as still as an animal caught in the glare of headlights. The guards below gave up on the riverbank and turned their high-powered flashlights onto the hill, inching their way up. I couldn't wait any longer. Scooting a little ways down the slope, I whispered, "Hey."

The fugitive didn't move.

"Hey," I said a little louder.

He whipped around at the noise and rose, but his face remained shadowed. Just as I considered creeping down farther, I caught a flash of his eyes in the moonlight — yellow and bestial — and knew then, beyond all doubt, the man was not my father.

I wasn't even sure he was human.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N 'Sup y'all, I've been trying to make a hat but the hat will not hat, all I wanna do is go to bed**

 **Here ya go**

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Fast-rising panic surged through me as I stared at the fugitive man crouched on the hill below. His yellow eyes glowed with hostility and I'd swear he was growling. Horrified, I shoved back, kicking earth to get away, but he lunged up the hill after me. I heaved my bag at him, hitting him squarely in the face. He stumbled back.

Turning, I scrambled up the steep slope, only to feel a steely grip clamp around my ankle. I cried out and clawed at the weeds, trying to get a handhold, but still the terrifying man dragged me to him. As I kicked at his hand, a hornet blew past my ear, its wings brushing my skin. The man released me with a roar. He slapped at his arm, which had somehow sprouted a dart. When he tore it out, another dart punctured his neck.

I crabbed backward up the hill, only to get hooked from behind and hauled to my feet. I whirled to run and slammed in to a wall of a boy. His badge and dog tag dangled against his chest, inches from my nose. A line guard.

He dragged me aside with a "Shh" and raised his gun. Mouth tight, he took aim, but before he could pull the trigger, the maniac on the slope toppled over. The guard exhaled slowly, and then turned a cold look on me, made even colder by the color of his irises — pale gray, the exact shade of the wall.

"What are you doing over here?" he demanded.

I couldn't speak. My brain had blown a circuit back at yellow eyes. Yellow.

"Who gave you permission to cross the —" The guard's words cut off as his gaze swept over me. "Oh … got it. You're one of the captain's friends. I nodded dumbly. He could assume whatever he wanted as long as he let go of my arm so that I could put some serious distance between me and the groaning, yellow-eyed man.

"Stay here," the guard ordered. "There's no reason for them to see you." He tipped his head toward the bottom of the hill, indicating the other two line guards, and then he lowered his voice. "They resent the brass enough as it is."

He said it like he wasn't one of them, though he sure looked like any other line guard — hair buzzed, expression brutal.

"Do not try to walk back without me. Understand?" He slid the dart gun into a thigh holster. "You'll just get blown to pieces."

Right, land mines. Nice scare tactic, jerk. I nodded again.

"Jackson," a voice yelled from the riverbank. "Did you find Bangor?"

"I tranqed him. He's down," the guard at my side shouted back. I jumped at the sound. I needed to get a grip, and fast.

"I'll be right back," the guard named Jackson whispered, then he picked his way down the slope.

One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus … With the patrol badge in hand, I dashed up the hill, watching for the telltale glow of the mines. On the rise, I paused, gasping, and ducked behind the same bush as before. Wait there so he could come back and arrest me? Yeah, right.

But Guardsman Jackson wasn't going to forget about me. As soon as he got yellow-eyes under control, he'd be back. Some fetch I was! Spurling had warned me about the line guards. So had my dad — only he'd called them killer robots. Yet I'd managed to get nabbed within twenty minutes of coming east. And to top it off, I'd left my dad's messenger bag on the hill next to the maniac. How stupid could I be? Very, obviously.

The other two guards hiked up the slope. With their backs to the bridge and the gate unguarded, this was my shot. Move, I told myself. Now! My legs didn't obey.

"Over here," Jackson called to the other two. He ran a hand over his bristling black hair.

The flashlight beams bounced across the hill until they landed on the writhing maniac on the ground and set his drool glistening. Jackson glanced up the hill even though there was no way he could see much in the darkness. Still, I stayed down and turned off my dial. As much as I wanted to keep recording, I couldn't risk someone spotting the tiny red light that indicated my dial was on.

When the other guards got close, Jackson asked, "How did he get infected?"

"How should I know?" said the stocky guard with biceps as thick as his thighs. "I was on gate duty and Bangor shows up." He flung a hand toward the crumpled man. "Says the captain wants me. So, I go, right? I'm maybe twenty feet down the path and I hear the bolt slide open. I look back and Bangor's yanking on the gate. That's when I yelled for backup."

The gate. Right. I redirected my attention to the bridge's dark silhouette and crept several bushes closer to the landing strip. The hill wasn't as steep here. Staying low, I dashed down the slope to the nearest jeep and crouched.

"Okay, he's out," I heard Jackson say as I snuck along the row of vehicles. When I reached the last one, I stole another look at the guards. Their eyes were locked on the man on the ground, now deathly still.

"He was on river patrol today," said the third guard, whose blond crew cut looked like baby chick down. "They found a raft on the west bank. Maybe Bangor found the owner."

"More like the owner found him," said the stocky guard.

"Hey, maybe it's not —" The blond guy shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe Bangor just cracked from the stress." Jackson dropped to a knee and touched the tranquilized man's forehead.

"Maybe." Even from fifty feet away, I could hear the lack of conviction in his husky voice. "Take him to the infirmary."

"Why? He's turning," the stocky guard said, his voice rising.

"Because the doctor is going to want to know what bit him."

"We know what," the guard snapped. "A feral."

"Yeah, but which strain?" Jackson shot a glance up the hill — probably trying to check on me.

"Who cares?"

"Are you trying to find a cure?" Jackson got to his feet, which gave him the height advantage. "No? Then shut up and get him to Dr. Solace."

Dr. Solace, the very person I was supposed to find. And maybe now that wouldn't be such an impossible task. I could follow these guards right to him.

The blond guard stepped away, hands up. "He might bite." I twitched, remembering a line from a documentary about the outbreak: _Ferae killed half the nation, one bite at a time._

"So what?" Jackson asked. "Even if he has _Ferae_ , it won't get into his salivary glands for a while."

"Did you read that in one of your science books?" the stocky guard sneered.

"Fine." Jackson unclipped something from his belt and tossed it to the blond guard. "If you're so worried, muzzle him."

"I'm not putting my hand near his mouth." He tossed the leather strap to the stocky guy. "You do it."

That one didn't even bother to catch it; he just let the strap bounce off his chest and fall to the ground. "Not a chance."

"Oh, for — He's unconscious." Guardsman Jackson sounded like he was at the end of his patience.

I had to get out of there before he realized that I wasn't waiting for him to come arrest me. At least he hadn't told the other two about me. "If you're so freaking sure, you muzzle him," the stocky guard said. Jackson dropped his dog tag and badge down his shirt and scooped up the piece of leather.

"Move." The other two had several years on him and yet they jumped out of the way as he bent over the tranquilized man.

With the guards' attention wholly on their task, I slipped through the gate, which they'd left ajar. Rock music drifted out of the darkness upriver. I pressed against an iron support beam and peeked back at the trio on the slope. Jackson stepped aside as the other two guards slung the maniac's arms over their shoulders and lifted him. If they were following his instructions, they'd take the infected man to Dr. Solace. All I had to do was keep to the shadows and trail them.

Layers of rust stuck to my palms as I peeled away from the beam. Ugh. But there was no time to whip out the hand sanitizer. I sprinted for the gate at the far end of the bridge, not trusting the soft wood beneath my feet — it felt rotten — but at least it muffled my footsteps.

Lights appeared from around the bend and the music grew louder as a patrol barge cruised downriver. Onboard, patrolmen aimed spotlights at the banks. I pressed against another support beam, trying to make myself invisible, only to hear a clank as the guards lugged the unconscious man through the gate. Jackson wasn't with them — probably because he was searching for me on the ridge. How long would it take him to realize that I wasn't there?

I stayed plastered to the iron beam. If I dashed through the gate now, the approaching guards might see me. But I couldn't stay here. They'd be on top of me in a minute. Jumping was definitely out. The river looked not just fast, but schizo. With all the cross currents, I'd get swept under in a heartbeat.

Peering down through the planks of wood, I watched the patrol boat cruise under the bridge. When a guard tilted up his light, I jerked back from the gap. The guards behind me dragged the unconscious man to the railing as the boat emerged on the other side. "Hey," the stocky guard yelled down.

"What are you slack-offs doing up there?" a voice shouted back. Go go go! I dashed for the gate — left open and swaying in the night breeze.

"Nothing good," he called down. "Tell you when you're back in camp."

I slipped through the gate and into the shadows beyond. Six rows of barracks lined up before me, with several buildings per row. That was housing for a whole lot of guards, and who knew, there might even be more. The bridge I'd crossed was located at the southwest tip of the island and Arsenal was a very big island. Luckily, the bridge faced the backside of the barracks. The six-story clock tower read one o'clock and yet spotlights blazed throughout the camp. A security measure? I dashed into the narrow alley between two barracks and "made my way to the front of the building. I peered around the corner, only to have my heart plow to a stop.

There were line guards everywhere.

Young men and women, all in gray fatigues, stood in distinct groups in a courtyard that was bound on all sides by barracks. Under glaring arc lights, the guards slammed their guns around in some sort of rhythmic line dance. Or maybe this was what they called a drill. I edged back into the shadows, but couldn't tear my gaze from their syncopated movements and implacable faces. If they marched en masse in my direction, I had no doubt that they'd mow me down without noticing and pound my body to a bloody pulp under their boots.

Watching them, it was hard to believe the fact that before the plague, the line patrol was a private security force for indoor theme parks. These guards were all too young to have worked for Titan back then, when the company was known for its elaborate labyrinths that were acres wide and fifty stories high. Clearly the guards' training now involved more than helping people through a maze.

I ran back down the alley to watch for the guards who were going to take the yellow-eyed man to the infirmary. I crouched by the back corner so that my vest would disappear against the building's cement foundation. My heart thudded, keeping time with the relentless stomping from the courtyard. How was I going to make it to the infirmary in a white vest — muddy or not — without one of the robots noticing?

Behind me came the clatter of boots on wood as the two guards dragged the infected man through the gate. "Don't lock it yet. Jackson is coming," the stocky guard called to a young woman who veered toward them.

She stopped midstride. "Why's Bangor muzzled?" she asked sharply. "Oh no, is he infected?"

"Shhh," the two guards hissed in unison.

A head popped out of a far window. "Someone got bit?" "That was all it took. Within a minute the news had spread and guards rolled in from all directions to circle the men hauling Bangor, bombarding them with questions. Luckily none charged down the alley I was hunkered in.

As the glum little parade headed down a walking path, I slumped back against the building. I couldn't follow them to the infirmary — not with a crowd of anxious guards on their heels. I'd have to hang back and —

"I told you to wait for me," said an irritated voice.

I looked over to see Jackson, the dark-haired guard from the hill, striding toward me. I got to my feet. Could I outrun him? Not a chance. As tall as he was, there was nothing awkward about him: He'd bootcamped his body into fighting condition. Plus, there was the dart gun issue…. I decided to stay put and hope that he didn't know every guard on Arsenal Island. He closed the distance between us, stopping less than a foot away — closer than I was comfortable with for several reasons, starting with his size and ending with his not-messing-around-here expression. He held out my father's messenger bag.

"Yours?"

I might as well claim it. He already knew that I'd been on the riverbank. "Thanks." I reached for it, but he didn't let go of the strap.

"The pilot should have walked you in from the landing pad," he said reprovingly. "Make sure to tell Captain Hyrax so that it doesn't happen again."

Not knowing what to say, I nodded stiffly.

"Relax," he said, releasing my bag. "I'm not going to arrest you. What the captain calls R&R is his business, but you can't go wandering around camp. Can you find your way to the officers' quarters?"

"Uh …" I'd happily jump onboard whatever he had assumed was my reason for being here, if only I could figure out what it was.

"Fine, come on." He gestured me forward, looking less than pleased. "I'll take you to him." When I didn't budge, he frowned. "If someone sees you on base and reports it, Captain Hyrax will lose his post. That won't break my heart, but you'll be down a client."

I gasped. "You think I'm a …" I fumbled past my shock and offense to find the word. "An escort."

"My mistake," he said dryly. "Since obviously you're a …" He lifted a hand, at a loss.

"Guard," I said, and then added, "I'm off duty."

His brows rose. Clearly he'd need convincing, but I didn't have time to answer questions. Every second I stood here was wasting time that my father might need on the back end. "Look, I was just —"

A screech cut through the night, a sound like nothing I'd ever heard. I spun, looking for the source. That screech — it had sounded almost human. Almost.

"Okay," Cruz said. "One, no guard, male or female, has hair past their ears."

Before I could gather my wits to come up with a reply, another tortured scream straightened out my nerve endings.

"And two, we're way past reacting to that." How could anyone get past reacting to that? His expression hardened. "Now, why don't you tell me what you're really doing here, Miss?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N 'Sup. Sorry it took so long, I've had a rough few weeks. Here we go with chapter five. Chapter six will be up Monday.**

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Guardsman Jackson had shifted into stone-cold line guard mode — every inch of him, every synapse. Probably something the patrol hammered into the guards during training: how to seem simultaneously decent and reasonable yet capable of sudden violence. It was chilling. Even if my nerves weren't stretched to snapping point, which they were, I wasn't going to try spinning another lie. Not only did I not have the practice, I'd be worse under duress. And with his steely gaze pinned on me, Guardsman Jackson was laying on some serious duress.

"I can't tell you," I said, choking out the words.

A muscle ticked along his jaw as he studied me. "What's your name," he said finally. Grammatically, it was a question, but it sure didn't sound like one.

"Bee."

"Just Bee?"

"Bianca Delphi." Not a lie, though I was hoping that he'd think Delphi was my last name.

"You crossed the quarantine line, Bee. Maybe you noticed it — that three-thousand-mile-long wall back there. Your being here is a capital offense and I am two seconds from arresting you, which is exactly how long you have to tell me what you're doing here."

"Okay, all right. I'm looking for Nico Di Angelo."

Shock leapt into Jackson's expression. Clearly he recognized the name.

"I was hoping Dr. Solace could tell me where he is," I finished.

"He can't." If Guardsman Jackson could have crammed his answer down my throat, he would have.

"How do you know?"

"Because I report to Dr. Solace." Jackson ground out the words. "I spend every day in his lab, doing whatever he needs me to because he's trying to cure _Ferae_. You know what he's not doing? Associating with a known fetch."

"That's not what Director Spurling says."

"Who?"

"The head of Biohazard Defense." I tried not to sound smug. Smug would not go over well with this guy.

Jackson shot a look over his shoulder and then snagged my wrist and pulled me deeper into the shadows between the barracks. "They caught Nico, didn't they?" His tone was low, hard, and not even a little sympathetic. "What did he tell them about Dr. Solace?"

"Nothing! Ow," I said pointedly, raising my arm. He released my wrist and I took a moment to gather my adrenaline-soaked thoughts. Spurling would have a fit if she knew that I was confiding in a line guard, but I couldn't see another way forward. "Director Spurling doesn't have my dad, just evidence against him."

He sucked in a sharp breath. "Nico is your father?" He looked nervous.

"Yes. And she already knew about his deal with your boss. Will you please take me to him now?"

"No," he said in a tone that closed the discussion as definitively as the Titan wall had closed off the Outside. "Go back to Director Spurling," he said, practically spitting her name, "and tell her that the doctor doesn't know Nico Di Angelo. Has never even heard of him."

"She's not going to buy that. Anyway, she's not looking to arrest anyone. She has a job for my dad."

His eyes widened. "A fetch?"

"Yes. If he brings her back what she wants, she'll destroy his file."

Jackson scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Hopefully, he was reassessing the situation. He turned that considering gaze on to me. "And this director sent you here — to Arsenal Island — to tell Nico about this deal?"

When I nodded, he frowned. "How old are you? Sixteen?"

"Seventeen." Close enough. My birthday was coming up — in three months, anyway.

"What your dad does, fetching, it's a felony. But that doesn't give an official the right to send a kid over here where you could get infected or killed or worse."

I bristled. "There's something worse than being killed?"

"How about being eaten alive?" he asked casually.

All right, yes, that was worse, but kid was simmering in my gut. "You know, having my dad's file erased would be good for Dr. Solace too. 'Cause if they put my dad on trial, it'll come out that —"

"I can fill in the rest. Thanks." Despite his cool tone, Guardsman Jackson didn't look mad. He tipped his head up to the sky and let out a slow breath. "Wait — was he really considering not following orders?

"What's your name?" I asked quickly. "Your first name." I didn't want to talk to a killer robot anymore. I wanted him to be a person.

His expression relaxed a fraction. "Cast. Technically Castellan, but I go by Cast."

"What's that?"

"It was one of my mother's old friends."

He had a mother? Wow. Guardsman Jackson was becoming more human by the second.

"Stay here," he said, nudging me aside. "As in really stay this time."

I blocked his path. "Where are you going?"

"To get you some clothes. No guard would be caught in that getup on Arsenal." He nodded at my vest. "Not even if she's off duty."

"It isn't mine. My friend —"

"Do something about your hair." He pushed past me, clearly not interested in why I was dressed like the step-daughter of a stripper. I slumped against the barracks wall. Cast. It sounded nice, but was the boy nice?

Please. He was a line guard. Nice didn't apply.

The killer robot returned with a pile of clothes, combat boots, and a gray cap. I tensed, waiting for more guards to appear. When no one marched around the corner, I relaxed a little. He hadn't reported me. For now.

Cast held out the bundle. "I got them from the women's barracks, so feel guilty. Some guard is going to —"

"From a clean pile?"

"Does it matter?"

It did to me. But based on the press of Cast's lips, I dropped the issue. "Where can I change?"

"Here."

"Uh, no. I — can't."

"And I'm not taking you anywhere dressed like that. So either change or cross back over the bridge."

Another nonchoice. His eyebrows — straight and dark over his eyes — gave him a stern look, which made me reluctant to push my luck. I'd just have to change fast. "Are you going to turn around?"

He shifted his gaze to the basketball court — like that would be enough to put me at ease. What did he think I'd do? Clobber him when his back was to me?

Gritting my teeth, I kicked off my ankle boots and got the snaps on the vest undone, but that was as far as I could make myself go. As humiliating as the vest was, I didn't want to change into someone else's dirty laundry in front of a line guard while standing outside in an alley where anyone might waltz by.

"What's taking so long?" Cast asked.

He looked over. Good thing I hadn't flung off the vest. "Can you please turn around? I promise not to make a run for it."

"So you say."

"You don't trust me?"

"I don't want you doing something stupid."

Nice. "Well, how about trusting that I'm smart enough to realize that you know your way around here and I don't. So, if I were to run, I'm guessing you would catch me."

"Good guess," he agreed.

"And considering you're clearly faster and stronger than me, I'd probably end up dirty and hurt. Two things I hate. So, believe me, I'm not going to run."

He eyed me like a pop quiz that he hadn't studied for, but then gave me his back — ramrod straight, of course. I felt a little better. I still had to get undressed outdoors, but it was reassuring to know that logic worked over here.

I gave the shirt a sniff. It wasn't too bad, so I pulled the stretchy neoprene over my head. Between the shirt's high neck and the three-quarter sleeves, it would keep me a lot warmer than Sophia's vest had.

"Ready," I said, once I'd gotten everything on, including the boots. I transferred the bottle of hand sanitizer and guard badge from my jeans to a side pocket on the camo pants.

Cast tugged my cap low over my eyes. "You're lucky I'm the one who found you. Any other guard would have hauled you off to Captain Hyrax."

I tensed. "Why didn't you?"

"I didn't drink the Kool-Aid. Come on, let's go."

I wasn't sure what he meant and I didn't care. Just so long as he didn't turn me in. "One minute." I tried to roll up Sophia's vest but the vinyl was too stiff. It didn't fold well either and was not fitting easily into the messenger bag.

"You're not planning on following in your father's footsteps, are you?"

I wasn't, but that didn't mean I wanted some line guard pointing out my shortcomings as an amateur fetch. I shot him a dirty look.

"Just asking," he said.

Was that amusement in his voice? He tugged the vest out of my hands and snatched up my white boots.

"Hey," I hissed as he stalked off. "I have to give those back."

Stepping from between the barracks, he tossed the things into the first trash can he passed. I frowned but didn't try to fish them back out. As grateful as I was for his help, Guardsman Jackson was starting to rub me the wrong way. Were all line guards so bossy? I tucked my ponytail under the cap and joined him.

"You'll pass."

Darn right, I'd pass. I could do the whole ramrod posture, perfectly-made-bed robot thing. Okay, maybe not the marching and the push-ups …

"Good job on the boot size," I said, but he just waved me forward. Whatever. I wasn't here to make friends. Still, I was pleased that everything fit. I even felt a little tougher dressed in military pants "and a carbon-gray top. Now I could slip through the shadows like a real fetch instead of shining like a beacon of westerness in white vinyl.

We didn't take the trail the guards with Bangor had hurried down. Instead, Cast guided me alongside the fence that enclosed the island. A high-pitched yammering echoed from the far bank of the river. Cast didn't seem to hear it. I paused to peer through the chain link into the darkness beyond, but could see nothing.

"Don't touch the fence," he warned.

"Is it electrified?"

"Yeah. It's set to stun-lethal. Meaning, touch it once, the shock will knock you flat. Touch it again, your heart stops." When the yammering started up again, he jerked his chin toward the sound. "Feral."

I looked, but I couldn't even make out the river, let alone the east bank. "You mean an infected animal?"

Cast cocked his head, listening. "Human, I think. One that's too mutated to talk."

My gut twisted. Mutated. So the rumors were true. "Is Bangor going to mutate?"

Cast nodded.

"Okay," I said, though it absolutely wasn't. "But why was he acting crazy?"

"Right now he's just fevered. Bangor's body is trying to kill the virus with heat, but it's not working, so his body keeps upping his temperature."

"Why were his eyes yellow?"

"Because even if he lives through the fever, Bangor is still grupped." Cast glanced back at me. "Genetically corrupted."

Ahead of us, a pool of light illuminated a massive gate made of chain link and corrugated steel, topped with cantilevered spikes wrapped in razor wire. As if that wasn't intimidation enough, a guard booth was stationed beside it. Cast pointed past the gate.

"We're at the bridge."

"The last bridge?" I peered through the fence and could make out its skeletal silhouette against the river.

"The one and only."

Despite all the spotlights aimed at the gate, the bridge itself was disappointingly dark. Probably another security measure. Still, when Cast wasn't looking, I pushed record and aimed my dial toward it. It was a famous landmark, after all.

"Listen," he whispered.

I'd heard it too. A child's voice saying, "Please help us." The guard didn't stir in his sentry station, even though he had to have heard the child as well. Cast slipped behind the guard booth. I followed and saw a little girl in a filthy T-shirt clinging to the chain link on the bridge side. Clearly the gate itself wasn't electrified. A man in a blood-soaked shirt and torn pants lay in a wagon beside her, his limbs draped over the edges. At Cast's approach, the girl looked up with eyes a nice, normal shade of brown. If she wasn't infected, where had she come from?

"Please help him." The girl pushed a snarl of black hair behind her ear. She had to be ten at most.

Cast peered through the fence at the unconscious man. "Was he mauled?"

Mauled. The word wound up my spine and clung there.

"My mom turned. She went — She was about to …" Shuddering, the girl looked down at the man in the wagon.

His face was tipped away from us, which was probably a good thing since the sight of his chest and right leg made me light-headed. I couldn't tell stripped shirt from stripped flesh. Only the faint wheeze of his breathing revealed that he was alive.

"Get away from the gate, you stupid grunts!" shouted an angry voice. I turned to see a ruddy-faced guard step from the booth. His gaze skipped over me and onto Cast. "You," he spat. "What a surprise."

Ignoring him, Cast crouched so that he was at eye level with the little girl. "What's your name?" he asked in a voice so low and gentle that I couldn't help but stare. Where was this guy when I was back on the hill? Or standing in my underwear between the barracks? Moments that wouldn't have been nearly so nerve-wracking if he'd used that tone with me.

"Jia," the girl said, still clinging to the chain link.

"Did your mother bite him, Jia?" Cast nodded to the unconscious man with blood pooling by his outstretched leg. The girl gave a pained shrug. "Where is your mom now?" Rising, Cast looked past her into the darkness beyond.

Jia took up the man's hand. "He shot her…." She said it so softly I wasn't sure that I'd heard her right. "To save me."

The ruddy-faced guard stalked toward us. "I told you, no one here is going to help you," he snapped "at her. "So, take off. And take him with you." He pointed his gun at the mauled man.

"I'll test them." Cast turned on the guard. "If they're clean, you're going to open the gate."

The two glared at each other. Then, surprisingly, the guard retreated. "Sure, let them in. What do I care?" he snarled before slamming back into the booth. "Let them all in, big man."

Guess I wasn't the only one who thought Cast was bossy.

"I need to get some things so I can test your blood," Cast told Jia. "And his."

"But he needs help now," she cried.

"I can't touch him yet. But I'll be back with a couple of medics who've had a lot more training than me. If he's not infected, they'll help him. I promise."

As we hurried toward a large building, there was so much I wanted to know — like did uninfected people live in the Feral Zone? But I was too worried about the little girl to think straight. "If Jia's "mother is dead, where will she go? Who's going to take care of her?"

"If she tests clean, I'll take her to the orphan camp," Cast said. "It's on the other end of the island."

Orphan camp. That didn't sound too awful. It had to be better than living with a mother who attacked people. "How could Jia's mother have mauled that man?" I asked from behind him.

"Later."

But as another series of screeches erupted from beyond the fence, I caught up with Cast.

"What is happening to these people?"

He sighed, relenting, but didn't slow his pace. "You know Ferae is a bootloader virus, right?"

"I don't even know what that means."

"It means Ferae carries foreign DNA. Animal DNA, to be exact. So do other viruses — swine flu, avian. The difference is that Ferae dumps its load into the infected person's system. It's called viral transduction. And when that happens, the person is epically grupped."

"Because he'll mutate … but how?" The screech from across the river trailed off. A chill skittered through me and I stopped short. "They become animals."

"Not all the way." Cast faced me, his expression grim. "They're still part human…."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N hellooooo**

 **Look, I know it's been a while. I've been discovering that I'm legally disabled and stuff, and I've had far too many doctor's appointments and not enough energy for much things. But I'm NOT discontinuing this, no matter how long it is between chapter. I actually bought the book I'm basing this world of this fic off of, and I've read the PJO books enough to know every detail of all the lore necessary. So I'm not stopping, it just might take some time.**

 **That being said, enjoy.**

* * *

The moment I set foot in the dimly lit infirmary, memories of my daddy threatened to shut me down. The building had clearly not been designed to be an infirmary — doors with frosted windows lined the hall, making it seem more like an old office building — and yet the antiseptic smell gave away its current function. The smell also brought back the desperation I'd felt the day they'd checked my daddy into the hospital, knowing it was for the last time — that he'd never come home again.

Jackson led the way through the echoing corridor, and I kept my face ducked until we stepped into a dark office. When he flipped on the light, I glanced at him and was caught by surprise. He was younger than I'd thought — only a year or so older than me. And despite the cropped hair, military fatigues, and the fact that he stood a head taller than me, he wasn't nearly as intimidating as before. Probably because he wasn't trying to be.

I tore my gaze from him and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. The office was a mess. Crumpled food wrappers and blue inhalers littered the floor. All the cupboards were flung open and a mini refrigerator sat precariously on a stack of storage bins. Had biohaz agents come here and tossed Dr. Solace's office because of his association with my father?

"He's probably in the lab," Jackson said as he pulled a couple of latex gloves from a box. Since he didn't seem the least bit alarmed, I figured the doctor must leave his office like this all the time.

"What kind of doctor is Dr. Solace?"

"A virologist," Jackson said, pocketing the gloves. "A long time ago he worked for the CDC."

"What's the CDC?" I scooped a midnight-blue inhaler off the floor.

"The Centers for Disease Control. It was a government agency that got cut before the plague."

"What did they do?"

"Prevent plagues …" He loaded on the irony.

I snorted. Every history lesson about the early part of this century seemed to end with a ba-dum-bum-ching. I shook the inhaler by my ear but there was no slosh. At one point it had contained a sleeping spray called Lull, which I was somewhat familiar with. It had been prescribed to my dad back when he'd had emergency surgery, though he never told me what for. After just one night, he'd thrown the inhaler away because the Lull had knocked him out cold for twelve hours straight.

Jackson's dark brows drew together when he saw what I was holding. "The doctor has trouble sleeping."

He must — since the trash can contained enough inhalers to conk out a herd of stampeding elephants.

Jackson strode to the desk and picked up an inhaler lying there. "He's been on call since dawn, so he'll be dying to sleep." He met my gaze as he pocketed the Lull. "If he takes a hit before you two talk, you may as well ask the wall about your dad. I'll tell him you're here, then I'm going to try to convince a couple of medics to come back to the gate with me." He headed for the door, snagging a white box off a shelf on his way. At the door, he paused. "Don't touch anything."

I stiffened. Did I look like a thief?

"I didn't mean — There are eighteen strains of Ferae in there." He pointed at the mini fridge. "You don't want to infect yourself — that's all I meant."

"Oh." No, I definitely did not want to infect myself. In fact, I was going to sit down and keep my hands in my lap until Dr. Solace showed up. Maybe I'd even keep my breathing to a minimum. I did a slow turn in place, trying to decide what spot looked the least germy. Would it be rude to move the doctor's paperwork? I eyed the stack of files on the chair next to me. A corner of a photo stuck out from the pile. I stared at it. Moving the stack — questionable. Riffling through it — definitely rude. And yet I reached for the photo, gently pulled it free of the pile … and then nearly swallowed a lung.

I flipped the photo over before the image gave me brain damage, but of course, within a second I had to take another peek. The picture was of a person's open mouth with a scattering of oozing sores where teeth should have been. In some of the gaps, new teeth were growing in — triangular, serrated, and definitely not human.

My conscience pinged but I couldn't stop myself; I sifted through the stack and found a manila folder labeled "Stage Two: Physical Mutation." Inside were more photos of human body parts gone very, very wrong. Two curling yellow horns that poked through someone's dark hair. A child's fingers that ended in claws. A man's forearm sprouting patches of spotted fur.

"Not an attractive bunch, are they?" asked a voice behind me.

I spun around to see a man with graying blond hair standing at the door with his hands in his pockets. He froze when he saw my face, and I couldn't breathe.

"Bee?" he whispered.

"Daddy," I sobbed, and ran into his arms. He held me close, stroking my hair and I held him tight, as if the moment I let go he'd disappear.

"I thought you were dead!" I cried. "Dad, and the funeral, and-"

"I know, I'm sorry," said Dr. William Solace, my other father. "It was…" he paused. "A necessary deception. I was needed here."

I pulled back, staring at him. "But why?" I asked, like a child.

Daddy's eyes shone with something I didn't understand, and he shook his head. "I wish I could tell you," he said sadly. "It's something your father and I-and our friends-did. We did something bad, and we have to fix it."

"But what did you do?" I was confused.

"We let one of us go too far," Daddy said. "Dozens of our kind went missing, and the mort-...I mean. The civilians were dying by the thousands. We couldn't just let that happen."

"But-"

He didn't let me finish. "You're here to find Nico, aren't you?"

Yes, I was, but the mutated body parts had hijacked my thoughts. "Can you cure them?" I pointed to the file with the photos.

"No." Sighing, he settled into the chair behind the desk. "I can't even develop an effective vaccine until I have samples of all the different strains. So far the most I've come up with is an inhibitor that slows the rate of the mutation. It's not much, but they're clamoring for it over there." He waved airily toward what I guessed was the East. "Every month, Nico takes a crate of it to a group of infected people living in an old quarantine compound. They tell him about any changes they've noticed or if they're experiencing side effects. It's not an ideal way to conduct research, but until the law changes, I don't dare go myself."

"Why not?" It was okay for dad to risk infection and arrest, but not him?

"Titan pays for all of this" — he swept a shaky hand at the room and the corridor beyond — "in the hopes that I'll find a way to immunize the line guards. They don't care about those who are already infected. The CEO, Annabeth Chase, has made it quite clear that if I ever cross the river to collect data, she'll cut my funding. You see, the corporation that gets paid to enforce the quarantine can't afford to employ a quarantine breaker. That's why I'm so grateful to your dad. I couldn't have gotten this far without him."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Nico cut through camp last night. Stopped by just long enough to tell me that biohaz agents were right behind him. They weren't. Not that I saw anyway." Daddy began patting down his lab coat until he found a blue inhaler in a pocket.

"Where did he go?"

Daddy shook the inhaler, frowned, and tossed it aside. "To Moline, the quarantine compound I mentioned. We have friends there."

My mouth went dry. He'd gone back into the Feral Zone where mutants with claws and horns went around mauling people? Inhibitor or not, that sounded suicidal. "What if one of them bites him?"

"I don't believe any have progressed to stage three of the disease."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. You're worried about Nico and I'm talking like a virologist."

"No, it's okay. I want to know."

With a nod, Daddy leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk.

"There are three stages to Ferae. The first presents with a high fever within one to ten hours after infection. Once the virus is established, the fever ends and the patient regains his faculties. After that, the virus begins a slow takeover of the body and the patient starts to manifest physical signs of infection." He gestured toward the file of photographs.

"Anatomical deformities. Stage two can last anywhere from weeks to years. It all depends on the patient's health, genetics, access to antiviral medication…. Many factors." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "The third and final stage of Ferae is insanity. The virus invades the brain, at which point the patient becomes animalistic and highly aggressive."

"Oh." And I'd thought his photos were gruesome. What was playing in my mind now, however, combined those images with sounds and actions to terrifying effect.

"Incubation, mutation, psychosis — those are the stages." Daddy rose and moved unsteadily toward the bookcase. "We used to compare Ferae to rabies. Now we know the better model is syphilis, which has a symptomatic stage that can last decades before dementia finally sets in."

After a moment of scrounging through boxes on the shelves, he found an inhaler and gave it a dreamy smile. "Anyway, Nico tells me that in the past year, no one in Moline has progressed to the final stage. I'd like to think it's because of the inhibitor he's been taking them, but who knows?" Squeezing the inhaler, the doctor sucked in the Lull and, surprisingly, he seemed to straighten up. Guess the drug didn't work very well on him. "You needn't worry, Bee. Your dad will lie low for a while and then come back to check that the coast is clear, which it is."

"It isn't," I said, feeling a throb in my temples. "The biohazard agents are after him. They recorded him breaking quarantine."

Daddy's gaze sharpened despite the Lull in his system.

"Have you seen the recording?" he asked. "You know for a fact that it exists?"

I nodded. "Where is Moline?" What I really wanted to know was just how far dad had ventured into the Feral Zone. Stuffing the cap into my back pocket, I took out my dad's map and spread it across the desk. "Show me?"

Why was I bothering with this? Spurling's orders were to come right back if I couldn't find my dad. Still, I watched as Daddy pointed to a spot on the map — a city, which had been circled in dark ink.

"It's directly across the river," he said. "Just off the northeastern tip of the island. There used to be a bridge there, back in the day, but not now."

I touched the tiny line that was the last and only bridge across the Mississippi. Like the bridge that I'd crossed to get from the west bank onto Arsenal, the last bridge to the Feral Zone was on the south end of the island. "How big is Arsenal?"

"A thousand acres."

"I mean from end to end."

"A little over three miles." He sank into the chair behind his desk. "Are they threatening execution?"

"Yes," I said softly.

The doctor dragged his hand down his face. "Nico knew that it might come to this — that something could happen, making it impossible for him to return west."

"Why didn't he warn me about that possibility or tell me that he's a Fetch or mention anything about any of this ever?" It came out harsher than I'd intended.

"If it helps, Nico goes around that issue all the time. It always comes down to the lie detector test."

"What?"

"The one they'll give you if he's caught. They're very good now, those tests. Accurate ninety-nine percent of the time. A person's body gives him away with the tiniest release of chemicals. If that test revealed that you knew your father was crossing the quarantine line, you'd be condemned as a traitor and executed alongside him."

"Oh." The vision I had of my dad being shot by a firing squad … He must have had a similar one of me — one that had played in his mind for years. For the first time since the jumpsuits had hauled me out of Zane's party, I felt my guts unknot a bit. Now my father's silence made sense. If I only could talk to him and tell him about Director Spurling's offer, then he could put aside that worry.

"How can I get a message to him?" I asked Daddy.

"You can't. All we can do is wait for Nico to come out of hiding." "Wait?" I didn't have time for that. Correction, dad didn't.

"You're welcome to stay, like Jackson, like me," the doctor murmured. "Stay because of a parent."

What was he talking about?

"I'm here because of my father too, Bee."

"Is he living in the Feral Zone?"

"No. He...he left." Daddy sank lower in his chair. "They all left," he murmured.

What did that mean? He gave me a wry smile.

"My gift has its advantages. Unfortunately, it doesn't do much for insomnia. Or heartbreak …" His voice faded as his chin sank onto his chest. The Lull had finally kicked in. I hoped that sleep would bring him some relief from his exhaustion and sadness, even if only temporarily.

Daddy was different. He looked older, more worn. He hadn't been this bitter and miserable before. How long had he been working here, exactly? I was still confused about the fake death. Did dad know? Was it just another thing my parents had kept from me?

I picked up the map and traced the circle around Moline. If I were to cross the last bridge — a very big if — I would then have to walk three miles up the riverbank to reach Moline. Three miles in the Feral Zone …

I folded up the map and returned it to my dad's bag. What was three miles? Nothing. If the road was flat, I could jog it in under an hour.

Suddenly a howl, long and pained, cut through the corridor. I swung around to stare at the closed door, heart jumping in my chest. Did I want to know what that was? No, I did not. But if I planned to cross the river — and I realized I did — I should know what I was in for. I snatched up the messenger bag, pulled the cap over my hair, and slipped out of Dr. Solace's office. Because...that's what I'd have to call him now. He wasn't a parent to me anymore, and he was different. I shoved my hurt feelings aside and kept going.

I followed the keening sound down the hall to a door, open just a crack. Inside, the infected guard, Bangor — red faced and sweating — struggled against the leather straps that bound him to a bed. In the far corner, a guard hunkered in a chair, his hands over his ears, his body turned toward the window like he wanted to dive through it. I didn't blame him. Bangor seemed to be having a seizure, with his throat muscles bulging and eyes rolling. What if he bit off his tongue? They should have left the muzzle on. He let out another savage howl, followed by a jumble of sounds — almost words — that sent me backing down the hall.

Voices around the next corner were heading my way. I darted into a dark room marked "Supplies." I made a quick scan of the rows of metal shelves and then returned to the door. But as I peeked into the hall, hands grabbed me from behind and twisted my arm up my back.

"Crappy reflexes for a guard," a harsh voice whispered in my ear.


End file.
